


Blatantly Obvious

by Kahvi



Category: Mighty Boosh RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-24
Updated: 2008-05-24
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahvi/pseuds/Kahvi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Noel and Julian are compatible in all ways but one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blatantly Obvious

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to [](http://smaych.livejournal.com/profile)[**smaych**](http://smaych.livejournal.com/) for looking this over!

The interviewer grins at me, the studio lights rebounding off his slicked-back hair. “So you two are like Fry and Laurie; Walliams and Lucas...”

“Right.” I know what's coming. They all think they're so fucking original. So fucking funny.

The grin grows wider. “So which one of you is the gay one, then?”

I grin right back, as I always do, and cross my legs daintily. The girls (and one or two guys) in the audience squeals as I wrap a lock of hair around my index finger. “Well, me, obviously.” I wink, and everyone laughs. I try very hard not to look at Julian.

 

* * *

 

It's so very, very easy. I look the part, so they all look to me. Julian just fades into the background. It's ridiculous. Not only do I live with a woman; I'm linked romantically to half a dozen by various tabloids every week. But because I wear make-up and... I dunno; what do girls wear? Because I'm _me_ , I'm the one they call gay. Doesn't matter what I say. Doesn't matter how Julian looks when the subject comes up; how his brow furrows and his hands go all shaky. He's in the background, where no one sees him. Besides; he's all bearded and Northen and rugged. No way does he like cock.

To be fair, even Ju thought I was gay, back when we first met. He saw my face and my hair, the way I moved, and the way I looked at Mick Jagger, and he drew his own conclusions. Took him almost a year to work up the nerve, but then, one night, he put his hand down my trousers when we were drunk and pretending to write in his bed. I didn't handle it too well, I'm afraid, but I've used every moment since to apologize. My punches don't have much force behind them at any rate. He soon recovered, inside and out.

It's not that he doesn't love Julia. I've never seen a man so devoted. It's the sort of thing that happens, I suppose. You see it, now and again, but you only really notice when it's the other way around. Married bloke suddenly finds out he's fancied his best friend all these years. And that doesn't always end well, but this did. Ju loves his family. It's been good for him. And it's not that he'd leave her if he got another offer. He'd sooner cut his arm off. With a spoon. I know that. But I also know there's something he wants that he can never have. And I feel quite an arse for not being able to give it to him. I've never felt able to. I didn't think I ever could.

Dee thinks I can, obviously. She's been nagging me all these years, and, sitting in the studio, practically feeling Ju's nervous eyes in my back, I'm wondering if she isn't right. I do love the man, after all. I just wish he had breasts and a vagina. Maybe it's the way the host leers at me, the way he tries to get eyecontact with Julian, to get him to agree with his latest homophobic jibe. To leer right with him. And I feel sick, and I can't wait to get out of there. It's not fair. And by the time we're ushered out, I've already decided.

 

* * *

  
This is easy too. We go for drinks, and that's all that's needed. He's so pliable when drunk. Like plasticine. I knead him 'til he's good and ready, and agrees to follow me home. He does look the part of a puppy. I text Dee on the way over, ushering her out. The reply is a screaming smiley-face and six thousand exclamation points. I mumble some pretext or another to get him inside, and he must be drunker than I thought, because he goes along with it. Or maybe something else is driving him? Maybe both. We stumble to the living room – it's not fully furnished yet; there are boxes everywhere, and a mattress on the floor, where Dee and I slept when we were painting the bedroom. It's still made up, and Julian's eyes fall to it, now and again, when he thinks I can't see. I take his face in my hands and make him look at me instead.

“Ju?”

He mumbles in reply. I wrap my arms around him, wondering if this will work. He rarely lets himself go anymore – I wonder what he's afraid of? But no; when I angle my face and pull myself closer, he takes my lips eagerly. It's when I walk us backwards and try to pull him down on the makeshift bed that he stops me, hands on my hips, pulling away. “What are you doing?”

I smile. “Belated birthday present?”

He doesn't. “Don't joke about that. Not this. You know I...” His voice breaks, and I want to kiss him again, but that's probably a bad idea. So instead, I take his hand, and place it firmly on my crotch. (There's no way I could get it inside these jeans on such short notice. I practically need a team of three to help me get into them myself.) He blinks, frozen. Stunned like I've never seen him before.

“Yeah,” I say, simply. “Really.”

“You...” He's considering it. I can tell. I keep my toes crossed, 'cause he can see my fingers. “You don't have to do anything.”

I laugh. “You think I'd do anything I don't want to?”

Julian shakes his head. “I mean...” and meets my eyes, finally. “I'd like to see you naked.” He swallows. I can tell that's taken a lot out of him. That he already regrets it. That he'll leave unless I say the right thing, right now. But instead of talking, I just strip. Julian just stands there, watching me, like he's not really sure this is happening. When I'm done, I undress him. He lets me, lifting arms and legs when needed, not saying a word. I brush my hand against his cock as I pull his pants down – he's hard enough to beat someone unconscious with himself, and I'm curious - and breath catches in his throat.

“What?” I mumble, getting up, thought not as far as I expected. Without shoes, he's so much taller than me.

“Don't...”

“Don't touch me?” I raise an eyebrow, grinning, and he smirks.

“Only if you mean it,” he breathes, so I kiss him like I mean it.

 

* * *

 

Later, much later, lying on the mattress much closer than we've ever been, hands and feet tangled in sheets, and hair mussed beyond recognition, I start to laugh.

“What?” The worry is back in his voice.

“Nothing.”

“Clearly, it's not nothing.”

I sigh, pulling him closer. “You just look so happy. So ridiculously happy. It's absurd.”

He snorts, but it doesn't help. He still looks radiant. Like he's pregnant, but he's not; it can't happen that way. “You shouldn't have done this, then.”

“Shut up, you soppy git.” We both giggle. It feels good. It all did, actually. I'm not sure what I expected. It was just naked closeness, and hands, and touching. I feel like a prick for depriving him all these years. But then he looks at me like he does when he thinks I'm not looking, only he knows I'm looking, now, and it's all right. Because if Julian Barratt loves me, I can't be all that bad, now can I?


End file.
